Oedipus From time to time

Another of my fathers prose. He was fascinated with the myth of Oedipus, and found deeper meanings within the mythic fables. This book (another not yet to be published) this masterpiece is another gem waiting to be discovered on my hard drive. Now I share one of the “Speeches”, as each chapter is a speech, each chapter holds value. Enjoy…

A collection of speeches called late encounters
With a lonely spirit

by Silviu G. Klein

1. The blind

It came with a strike of silence when the heart begun pulsing backwards in a rhythm close to frenzy. The capacity of enlargement quadrupled and the emotions swept with a cruel and unbelievable velocity just before the high tides invaded unguarded beeches displaying no mercy. Once in a while one, chosen by random survives and the miracle is obsolete, coming with no demand, no desire to outlive those who are drowning in self inflicted misery. What could be ever worst than betraying yourself, generating vulnerable spots large enough for open targets to be precisely hit with no margins of error.

Those moments in your life are beyond being regrettable; they will follow you wherever you go, with the spectrum and shape of a gruesome nightmare, inerasable and bitter.

They are no real connections with anything we might know and stirs emotions or even panic. Stubborn explorers are uncovering the surface and what is revealed is no more than an illusion meant to derail our hopes. That point on the horizon, where the passions intersect the focus of disillusions, was chosen by random and staring too often became a goal of our journey to a vanished world. Surrealistic image… not every beauty should be a target, not every crash can be avoided; it will always be the main stream that doesn’t drift, just flows with the speed of concerns… That’s all what is left to be aimed at?

Did you ever imagine, before seeing, those immense tides ready to conquer the land with a sharp upward move and then to capture the fruit of it with a cheerful sweeping retreat? When it was taking and hiding and keeping with a marsupial care always beneath, always shoving to anyone the unimaginable appetite… The beaches weren’t deserted completely; we just couldn’t assimilate disappearance after so much life being there before.

History is repeating with perpetuity, most of the time without giving us clear warnings, without making us aware of fire or flood or earth shaking vanishing powers once in a state of total submission. Those times are not with us and our life moves on, like nothing happened and we are behaving so strange after is gone, we are not even bragging about. The life after life would not be the subject if we would not have invented it. Who would be more qualified to mention pain than the one in several millions which have served hard labor? It is a cold inferno with no fire ever, with no combustion of any kind, where naked bodies are shivering in the cauldron, where the screams are frozen before being heard. The question is why the sufferers end up being moved from one inferno to the other? Perhaps it is a strange farce of destiny attributing pain piled up over pain with very little to follow; less than we hope in our fantasies accompanied by a music borrowed from another reality, the one which never becomes what we expected and always is fading away with a speed easy to pursue by foot. We are in a bizarre habit of ignoring life itself and paying more attention to the waves mounting successively and covering waves.

Soon after, the bad spirits learned about impassivity and assaulted us with an increased rage of destruction taking our imagination for a rollercoaster ride and invariable ending right here where we begun dreaming. It is no different than the theory of an object fallen from the night table; the dream ends when the object hits the floor? My theory is that it was the force witch saved us from being exposed again, or crucified for our rebellion.

We got caught in the reverse angle of views due to the presence of so many mirrors. I could have read the text on the wall, it still doesn’t make sense as much I try reading backwards or upside down… it shouldn’t be a wall here but all the reflections locate it where doesn’t suppose to be. If I remember well, the nearest wall shown on my map had a different shape and the location plus the character of it is with any doubt, wrong. My fingertips are touching the map forcing me to change direction. I continue to grope until I stumble and falling straight on my face, vomiting I couldn’t make the rational move. Spitting sand I remember seeing shapes, getting trapped in the image and still wonder by the touch of the beauty. How could that be in this light where shadows are not following objects, projecting always the next object in a totally different direction, like we are living in a immortal transparent world where the absurd is so common that nothing surprises us anymore?

All those silhouettes are so alive in my memory that I could smell the colors; I could taste the reddish gray of the mud and when I feel the breeze touching my hair and I refuse to believe it. I could step back, touch the breeze and sail underneath your wings, to show how thankful I am for the gift of still sensing the perfume of your body; nothing compares with this feeling of plentitude… I hesitate stretching my arms afraid that I’m not going to reach you.

“Dad, my eye hurts” I remember the gulf by the smell of carcasses penetrating my nostrils. Time passed and I still keep the smell. I don’t wish to return to the gulf even if my parents are peacefully resting there. I’m not sure… it was the last time I held my father’s hand and before we said good bye I heard his tears sliding on his unshaved face. “Dad, could you come closer”, he coughs dressing his voice “Son, you can’t get anything closer than this”, he didn’t want me to know, he was hiding his tears. “Dad, don’t leave now, my eye hurts so bad” I tried to impress him.

It was late and my dad left already, a little bit unbalanced, I know it by the sound of schlepping unevenly his feet. He couldn’t hear me being too close to the river’s torrent and kept distancing from me while my ears turned and kept pointing towards the direction where he left.

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